


Denial

by isurani



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical language, Gen, hoo boyo why am i writing this, i probably should be finishing projection, no gays yet cause my plans for this are a mess, tags to be updated as i actually come up with ideas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-10-20 07:44:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10658040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isurani/pseuds/isurani
Summary: There was such things as ghosts.There were the ghosts of Washington's bullshit speech bouncing around his brain, and the ghosts of when he didn't have a robot body, and then there were the ghosts of when they just stood around and talked.Of course, there was also him.He was a ghost.And he wasn't going to die again for something he hated.It wasn't his fight.





	1. Mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> ;)
> 
> so i had a bad idea and the entire rvb minors chat now wants to kick my ass  
> fine with me i'll just make them regret it  
> all aboard the bad decisions train choo choo

_“I'm leaving. I'm going with them.”_

_“What?”_

_“Wash, I don't give a shit about any of this. I hate you, I hate the Freelancers, I hate everything about you guys. This isn't my fight; it's yours.”_

_“It's your fight more than anyone else's!”_

_“I don't care what you say, no, it isn't.”_

_“Church, you'll never get another shot at fixing all of this. I know you don't believe what I've told you, but you need to ask yourself, what if I'm right? If I am, or if you have any doubts, not finding out will haunt you for the rest of your life. Not just finding out about you but, finding out about everyone close to you as well. It's your choice. What's it going to be?”_

 

“Church!” It’s Caboose’s call that breaks him out of his thoughts. “You dropped Epsilon!”

So he had. It’s not like the thing would be in danger, it was just on the floor of the Warthog. But Caboose had some weird attachment to the thing, like it was a dog or something.

Church went back to cracking his knuckles. Well, his robot knuckles. There was nothing to fucking do while goddamn _Washington_ was preparing whatever he was doing, and the reds weren’t talking to him.

What the fuck did they care? They weren’t being fucking lied to.

_“You’re one of them.”_

No, he wasn’t. He was a ghost. Boo, asshole.

_“You’re an AI.”_

Yeah, like the stupid catatonic thing on the ground. The thing that had fucked up Washington’s brain so badly that he thought Church was an AI.

What a fucking joke.

The radio in his helmet crackled to life, which meant it was either the reds or Washington. Church did not want to hear from either.

“Alpha, this is your last chance.” Yeah, that was Washington, with a voice more bitter and sharp than Church had heard in awhile. Not surprising.

“If you’re going to lie to my face, at least call me by my actual name.”

“Yes!” Caboose piped up, his voice grating against Church’s ears. Are there ears in a robot? “He is Church, but you can call him Best Friend if you forget! That’s what I do. Church tells me to never call him that again, but I know he likes it!”

Church didn’t even have the energy to tell Caboose to go fuck himself.

“I’m not calling him that,” Washington said, voice pointedly sharp. “I’m calling him by his name. Alpha, are you absolutely sure about this?”

“You already gave me the melodramatic speech,” he snapped. “Yeah, I’m fucking sure. Go die on your suicide shit for your freelancer buddies. I’m going to live as a ghost, you shit.”

Church bent down to pick up the Epsilon unit, shoving it in Caboose’s hands.

“I’m driving,” he affirmed. Caboose would end up driving them off a cliff, honestly.

The crackling sound of Washington’s sigh cut through the radio. On two channels, actually. Church muted the tentatively named Fuck This Shit channel, which left only the group channel. Creatively named Freelancer Adventure. Caboose had insisted on naming it.

“Grif. Make sure those two stay in front. If the EMP -”

“Emp,” Caboose interrupted.

“- if the _EMP_ gets to them, then both Epsilon and Alpha would be useless.” Church gritted his teeth. He didn’t actually have teeth, but the robot body could simulate it.

Well, or _he_ could simulate it. That is, if Washington wasn’t lying.

But fuck that train of thought. He was going to have plenty time to think about it back at Blood Gulch.

Wait, where were they going? He should probably ask-

“Alright. Stick to the plan. Just run. Get Epsilon out of here. Turn it over to the authorities the first chance you get.” Washington continued to stare directly at Church, his glare piercing even through the helmet.

“Sarge, shouldn't we help him?” Simmons whispered. It was an open channel, the idiot. “He won't stand a chance against that thing.”

“We have our orders, Simmons. We have to think about the mission.” Sarge said it gravely, overdramatically as usual. Church was one hundred percent done with the guilt-trip bullshit.

“Finally an order I wanna follow. ‘Run away and live.’” Church could hear the engine on the Warthog begin to rev up, muffling Simmons’ protests.

“If Agent Wash wants to face him alone, that's his business.”

“Yeah but he doesn't wanna face him alone. It's just that some people -” and that was a pointed look at him. Fantastic. Not like he wasn’t getting enough of those today. “- won't help him.”

“That's not our business either.”

“Listen up,” Washington stated. “The Meta’s going to be on you almost immediately. Draw him for as long as you can. I don’t have any more distractions.”

Distractions. Like what?

“Is that what I was going to be?” Church screeched. “A _distraction?_ If I really was a goddamn AI, you would have just left me to be fucking eaten by your old buddy there?”

There was a pause. There was the hiss of Red Team’s whispers - must have switched to their private channel. And then there was Caboose, cradling the Epsilon thing in his arms, looking worried. The fuck did he care? The fuck did any of them care?

“Alpha, listen-”

“No! I’m fucking sick of listening to you, Mr. big bad Freelancer. All you’ve done since you’ve met me is lie. You said you didn’t know the Meta, you said that we could _handle_ it, and now you’re just fucking manipulating me like everyone else! So you know what? Fuck you!” Church was seething, his hand gripping the steering wheel so hard that he could hear the creak of bending metal.

“Alpha. This isn’t all about you.” Washington stepped forward, Church’s eyes flicking to his assault rifle. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but sure enough, Washington had a hand on the gun.

“Oh yeah? Then what was that whole spiel you tried to feed me about this Alpha shit? _Why are you still calling me that?”_

The silence after that felt like a success. Fuck whatever Washington was going to do. If he died at this point, Church really did not care.

“He’s going to die, you know.” Simmons’ voice cut through the static of the radio, blunt and flat. “You’re just going to leave him to die.”

Church balled his hands into fists.

“And he was going to sacrifice me as a distraction. Your point?”

“His point is that you’re stealing my coward schtick. Not cool, you know.” Church couldn’t tell if Grif was serious, but it did not alleviate the anger.

“And what fucking right do you have? All you guys ever do is just stand around and talk! You don’t have to deal with this bullshit-”

“Enough!” Washington shouted. “He's gonna be on you as soon as you clear the gate. Be ready to move. Protect the Blues' vehicle at any cost.” That last part was directed at Simmons and Grif, the latter’s crossed arms beginning to seem less like indifference and more like indignance.

“Protect the Blues, right, yeah. We'll get riiight on that shit.” Sarge affirmed.

“Just take care of yourself.” Church scoffed at that. “I know that's one thing you're good at,” Washington finished. He turned to walk away, melodramatically like the asshole he was.

Church sighed.

A poke to the shoulder, and then there was Caboose, still holding the Epsilon unit, and was he fucking petting it? God, the kid and machines. It was honestly creepy.

“What do you want, Caboose.” Church gritted out, rubbing his helmet as if to rub a temple. Of course, there wasn’t any skin. Or muscle. Or anything.

“Will we see Agent Washingtub again?” Caboose asked, with that worried tone still in his voice.

“Fuck if I know.”

Church pulled up the other creatively named group channel - Blood Gulch with a smiley face - and started up the Warthog.

“Come on, assholes. Let’s go before Washington comes back and we have to deal with more melodramatic shit.”

 

A quick look outside the window affirmed that the Reds and Blues were gone. Well, at least that was going well.

Agent Washington knew the layout of the Freelancer Compound, so that much was easy. What wasn’t easy was the fact that he had absolutely nothing to stop the Meta when the distraction ran out.

It was a suicide mission. It would have been less so with Alpha, but that wasn’t happening. He had _thought_ he had convinced Church about his true nature, but evidently, the sim trooper was too self-centered to look beyond his own interests.

No matter. If he died here, then the UNSC would have Epsilon. That had been the plan, and it still was.

[SECURITY BREACH DETECTED.]

“Thanks, FILSS,” he muttered. Not like there was anyone here to answer that.

“Agent Washington.” And there was the voice of the Counselor. Wash swallowed his frustration and continued to walk towards the terminal. He did not have time to talk.

“If you would not like to talk to me about your actions,” the Counselor continued, ignoring Washington’s icy demeanor. “Then there is someone else here to attempt and try to talk you out of doing anything...rash.”

“It has been a while, Agent Washington.” And there was the southern drawl that made Wash want to rip his own hair out.

Flashes of memories and a young girl and torture, and “Washington and another didn’t make it”, and “Agent Texas is dead” and it’s _Allison_ , and _Allison and Allison_ -

A shaky breath, and Washington continued to pointedly ignore the security camera.

“I am sure you are confused, Agent Washington. It’s understandable that a prime agent such as yourself can go through some periods of doubt.”

 _Fuck you_ , Washington wanted to shout. But that would eat up time, and the terminal was right there, begging for the input codes.

“You don’t seem to be listening, Agent Washington.”

The tap of his gauntlets against the screen, filling up the bar with the codes, _57_ and _24110_ and _2554766._

[WARNING: THIS IS A FAILSAFE. ANY PROJECT FREELANCER EQUIPMENT IN RANGE OF THE FAILSAFE WILL BE DESTROYED. ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO CONTINUE?]

“Now David-”

Washington whipped his head around to face the security camera.

“If you’re going to give me this code name,” he said, keeping his voice even, “you may as well call me by it.”

“Now _David_ ,” the Director continued. “I believe there is someone here to see you.”

And of course the Meta had to be here, a hand to the field keeping him out of the room as it flickered, the Director’s smugness palpable through his very voice.

“You and Agent Maine have had some….complications in the past, but I am sure that civilized agents such as you both can work this out in an organized manner. Program, deactivate interior shield.”

[PLEASE WAIT FOR THE FAILSAFE TO PRIME ITSELF.]

Wash didn’t have time for this, he didn’t have time, Alpha didn’t have time, _I just need a little more time, Director, please!_

Maybe it was fine that he was going to die here. He wouldn’t have to talk to Alpha again, for starters. It was hard trying to hold a conversation with the remnants of the memories you stole.

“I am sorry, David, but it seems that Project Freelancer will no longer need your services.”

The Director had given up on getting answers, it seemed. Maine couldn't ask questions. And _the Meta_ didn't need to. Shoot first, leave the questions to those left to clean up the mess.

Wash guessed this was it.

“Agent Maine, if Agent Washington is not willing to work out his differences, then you have permission to kill him.”

The Meta didn’t hesitate.

[PLEASE CONFIRM THE FAILSAFE.]

Neither did Washington.

 

[ACTIVATING EMP.]


	2. Lights Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything he had said was a lie.  
> He had dragged them all into this just to go off and die, and he was going to take as many of them as he could with him.  
> At least, that's what Church thought.  
> But then, what the fuck would he know? His memories were false, right?  
> Joke was on Washington.  
> He was alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @bean fight me one on one, mate.   
> the bad decisions train is speeding up and shows no signs of slowing down. look at it go. vroom vroom assholes get out the way

“Caboose!” Church called out. “Take over driving, okay?!”

It was a fucking stupid idea, thinking about it. Caboose may have driven a tank but he had only killed Church with it. 

But Church threw himself into the back seats of the Warthog, almost flying out of the jeep itself. A seatbelt clicked - “Safety first,” said Caboose, and Church is screeching to  _ just go drive _ \- and he can put his head in his hands because something fucking hurts.

And it isn’t the emp, it  _ can’t _ be the emp, because he’s still thinking and feeling and he’s not a computer, he’s a ghost.

“Church! Are you getting your shit together or what, you asshole?” That’s Grif, the staticky yell buzzing inside of his head.

“What?” he called, because he can’t even hear himself think.

“The pulse, you dirty blue!” It was Sarge this time - he must have still had the “Blood Gulch” channel open. “We’re actually  _ trying _ to keep you all alive this time, and you can’t even drive yourself there!”

“Shut up,” Church hissed. Something just kept pounding in his head, and he couldn’t even see where anything was. He could feel the jeep, he could hear Red Team’s yells and half-hearted insults, but he couldn’t see the sand ahead. He must have turned off his display by accident.

Good. The sand fucking sucked.

“Shit, the jeep stalled! Caboose, get Epsilon and Church out of here!”

“Okay!” came the chipper yell, and Church realized that wow, Caboose was driving and he wasn’t dead yet. Quite an accomplishment.

_ “There’s no such thing as ghosts.” _

Well, then maybe he was dead yet. Because he was a ghost, not a calculator.

“ _ You’re one of them _ .”

The radio wasn’t even on the right channel. Church shouldn’t have been hearing Washington. But there was the ghost of his fucking insane speech still ringing in his ears. Joke had to be on Wash, then. There were such things as ghosts. Stupid piece of shit.

Metal fingers clenched and there was a screech as his gauntlets scraped against the helmet.

He shouldn’t be panicking. There was some sort of gratification from the fact that he was, because he couldn’t if he was an AI, right? Omega didn’t panic. Gamma didn’t. Delta didn’t. So he couldn’t, right?

So he was a ghost. Not an AI.

“ _ I'm saying I know what you are. Even if you don't.” _

Washington was fucking insane. Of course. Had a goddamn AI that drove him crazy, and Church had almost believed him.

The screech of radio static shot its way into his head as Church’s gauntlets drove deeper dents into his helmet.

A cacophony of yells filled the radio channel.

“Watch where you’re going!” 

“Caboose, you’re going to fall!”

_ “You’re bound to have some residual memories.” _

“Oh no. Church!”

_ “They’re just not yours.” _

“Caboose!

The static filled up the channel again as Church felt his body lurch. They were falling.

Church’s body was falling, to be exact.

Church stood on nothing, staring at nothing.

“ _ Just like a human mind when it’s broken _ .”

Broken by fucking lies, actually.

“ _ It fragments. _ ”

They were all fucking lies.

* * *

Fire swept over the sand.

It may have been miles away from the Freelancer Outpost, but it sure felt like a million hours waiting for the UNSC to get to them.

Church had ended up propping Caboose, who was unconscious but still holding the Epsilon unit for some fucking reason, up against the cliff wall.

Grif pulled off his helmet, curls matted with sweat and plastered against his head.

Sarge muttered something about uniform, then went back to inspecting the engine of the stalled Warthog.

The pulse had stopped. Just in time, too, since Caboose’s driving could really only get them so far.

Simmons was slumped on the ground, cyborg parts sparking and making noises that Church assumed were not supposed to be happening. 

For a bunch of guys who only stood around and talked, it seemed like the silence could have lasted for ages.

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

That was, if it wasn’t for Grif.

“Caboose could have fucking died, dick. Isn’t that your goddamn team?”

“What do you care?” he answered, only half paying attention. “You’re Red Team.”

“Whatever,” Grif hissed, going back to Simmons’ side.

Church began to pop Caboose’s helmet locks. May as well check for a concussion.

He had absolutely no idea how to check for a concussion.

For once, he wished Doc was here.

He probably wasn’t the best person to do this. The robot body had been charred in the crash, only half of it actually responding despite Church’s best efforts. Caboose was fucking heavy, and it wasn’t fun trying to keep him upright with only one hand working.

This so-called ‘daring escape’ hadn’t gone very well.

“Fucking Washington,” Church muttered as he pulled off Caboose’s helmet. “Coming up with plans that get us all killed, like always.”

For once, the power armor had been good for something, because Caboose didn’t  _ seem  _ injured. Then again, despite being a goddamn idiot, he never did.

Because that was fucking typical. He’d get killed, he’d become a fucking ghost, and Caboose would just be fine. Of course.

“Hey, Caboose.” May as well try to wake him up. Caboose was holding the Epsilon unit in a vice-like grip, and Church would have to get him to give it up before the UNSC arrived.

“Caboose.” He didn’t move, Epsilon pressed tightly against his chest.

“Shit. Is he dead?” A part of Church thought that really, he should be more concerned about that possibility, but the rest of him felt too far away to care. “Simmons, you’re smart. Is Caboose dead?”

“What?” came the response from behind Church, Simmons’ face even paler than usual. “Grif, wait there.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what to do,” Grif muttered as Simmons knelt down next to Caboose. 

“You  _ did _ check for a pulse, right?” Simmons asked. Church paused.

“Oh. Right.” Sure enough, there was a pulse.

“Just because  _ you’re _ dead doesn’t mean everyone else is,” Grif called.

“Or an AI,” Simmons said under his breath as he stood up. Church flinched.

“I’m  _ not _ a goddamn AI. I’m a ghost, bitch.” Simmons looked back at Church, his expression skeptical.

“Mhmm.” 

Church scowled. Well, Caboose was alive. Good start. Or bad start, depending on which perspective he was taking.

“Caboose, wake the fuck up.” He tapped the Epsilon unit, but Caboose didn’t respond.

“Shit,” Church sighed. What the hell was Caboose’s first name again? “...Michael?”

He didn’t really know what he expected. If Caboose was out cold, he wasn’t going to fucking respond to Church just calling him by his first name-

“Church?”

But of course things were never actually going to make goddamn sense here.

“Oh! It is Church!” Caboose lept to his feet faster than was probably healthy for someone who had just been out cold, but before Church could actually consider that he felt himself being picked up off the ground.

“Caboose I swear to god-”

That was all he could get out before it felt like Caboose was crushing him to death. Well, in a hug, but with Caboose it was practically the same.

“You’re okay!”

“What?” Church attempted, voice strangled. Caboose continued to act like he was trying to break as many robot bones in Church’s body as possible.

“I thought you had gone with Agent Washingtub-” At that, Church fought out of Caboose’s vice-like grip.

“Why would you think that? I’m not suicidal, Caboose.”

Caboose cocked his head, a puzzled look on his face. Granted, that was Caboose’s resting look, but the point stood.

“You told me to drive even though you said ‘Caboose shouldn’t drive because I, Church, am awesome and will drive for my best friend’ -”

“Not even close.”

“And then you left your body to go find Agent Washingtub because you were going to save him! And now you are back.” 

Church frowned.

“I can’t  _ save _ Washington. He’s probably already dead. ‘Least he did something useful in that suicide mission and killed the Meta.”

“But you left?” Caboose had those big puppy eyes that made Church want to punch him. He was a fucking soldier, not eight. 

“Well-” Church started, but quickly thought otherwise. He didn’t really feel like explaining having a fucking breakdown. He settled on muttering expletives and crossing his arms.

“Church?” He flipped off Caboose with the one working arm. Caboose seemed undeterred. “Were you saying something?”

“What? No.” He waved with his working hand, the other side dangling uselessly. “Go-go talk to Simmons or something. Leave me alone.”

“Okay!” came the response. Honestly, talking to Caboose was going to be the least awkward of the four that were there, but Church often forgot how much Caboose’s voice got on his nerves.

It didn’t matter. The Epsilon unit was left haphazardly on the ground, coated by sand. Church started to work on getting his useless hand to lock around the unit.

“Caboose? Why are you on the ground?” Simmons’ voice this time, unusually squeaky. Probably the cyborg malfunctions.

“Oh, I am on the ground! Well, I must be tired then!” The yawn that followed was exaggerated enough for Church to shake his head in annoyance.

“Caboose?” echoed Simmons.

Nothing. Church was grateful for the silence, curling his fingers around the creases of the Epsilon unit.

“Simmons, is he dead?” he called out, only half paying attention.

All that Church got back was mutters.

“Hey, blue!” That was Sarge. Church guessed he had finally stopped sulking around and ‘working’ on the jeep.

“I’m fine, Mr. Red!” Caboose responded, less enthusiastic than usual. ‘Mr. Red’ was a new one, though. If Church gave two shits he would make notes of Caboose’s nicknames.

“I’m just going to - just going to….” Church’s fingers clicked as they locked around the unit. Feeling smug, he let the broken arm dangle as he stood up. 

“Alright, Caboose. The fuck did you want-” Grif was next to Caboose, Simmons a few feet away, sparking furiously.

The blue soldier in question had collapsed onto the sand. He wasn’t moving.

“Told you he could have died,” Grif stated bluntly.


	3. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one's really having fun.  
> But some colorful soldiers sit around and talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey isu if caboose dies fuck u  
> Fuck u isu fuck u  
> <3 love you too ;)  
> \---  
> the notes on my doc sure are something

_ “How long was I out?” Washington’s head was pounding, everything around him looking watery, as if he was still dreaming.  _

_ “Only a few days this time.” North’s voice was calm, as if he was talking to a child. Or to South, but Wash assumed that was a brother thing. _

_ “This time?” It didn’t seem off, but Wash felt like he was missing something. He didn’t remember passing out. Sure, everything had hurt, and he was out for a bit, but weren’t most of the procedures like that? And if he really had been out for so long, shouldn’t it had just been one time? _

_ “After they removed it.” _

_ Removed it. It.  _

_ He was forgetting something, he knew he was. But it was really all that Wash could do to focus on North and not close his eyes again. _

_ “Removed it?” Wash placed a hand on the back of his head. It was empty, which made sense. The implantation must had gone wrong.  _

_ “It’s gone. They’re going to remove all of them. Started with you.” _

_ [No, they aren’t.] _

_ North was saying something else. Or was it South? Washington couldn’t tell. The room was spinning, and his head had started hurting. _

_ “You guys are starting to give me a headache.” _

_ North gave him a look, but Wash just shook his head. _

_ [Come on, Wash. Don’t interrupt. This is important.] Epsilon muttered at the back of his brain. South and North must have been explaining something. _

_ [Tex went rogue. She was going to take...something from Wyoming. He was pretty messed up.] _

_ Of course when he got knocked unconscious shit started going down. Typical. _

_ [Wash, don’t fucking complain. Least you didn’t get knocked out. Oh wait.] _

_ “Shut up, Epsilon.” _

_ North or South (or maybe both) looked at him.  _ _   
_ _ They stopped talking.  _

_ They stopped moving. _

_ They stopped doing anything. _

_ They just started fading away. Like ghosts lingering for too long, disappearing from view. _

_ Washington was alone. _

_ “Where did they go?” He didn’t know if he was asking Epsilon or just the world at large. _

_ [Nowhere. They’re dead, Washington.] _

_ “What?” _

_ [Maine killed North. South put him in the position to be killed. She shot you in the back, and you shot her in the head.] _

_ “But...but that isn’t...they were right here!” _

_ [The only one who’s right here is you, Wash.] _

_ Washington started pulling at the straps of the hospital bed. They didn’t bend. He couldn’t get up. _

_ An alarm started to blare. _

_ [INTRUDER ALERT, INTRUDER ALERT. BREACH IN SECURITY. LEVEL ZERO.] _

_ “Epsilon?!” Wash asked desperately. _

_ Epsilon didn’t answer. _

_ “Epsilon, I don’t understand. What’s going on?” _

_ He was forgetting something, but everything around him was screaming red and alert and there was no one, no one there but him. _

_ “Epsilon, where are you?!” _

_ No one answered. _

_ No one came. _

* * *

The fire was out.

Church didn’t move.

No one moved.

Church had taken up watch of Caboose. After an hour of no response, they had decided just to take shifts.

It wasn’t going well.

With no real work being done on either Warthog, Sarge had opted to gut both radios in attempt to fix one. Simmons said it was his specialty.

Well, he had said that to Grif. Probably sarcastically.

It was still the most information Church was getting at the moment.

“Caboose, you have got to stop falling asleep,” he hissed. Unconscious wasn’t really equal to sleeping, but fuck it.

It was still another thing they didn’t need to deal with.

_ “Great job, Church. You managed to kill another Blue Team member.” Grif snarked as he crouched next to Caboose. _

_ “Another one?” Church objected. “Caboose kills people, not me. Not that I can’t. I’m a great shooter.” _

_ “Oh, really? Cause I think with both Washington and Caboose, you’re getting a bit higher on the team-killer counter.” _

_ “Washington’s a freelancer, dumbass.” _

_ “He’s honorary blue team because he's dead now, just like you and Caboose, Church. Congrats, you must be fucking proud.” _

Church’s fist met the sand.

“Why the fuck are you still out, Caboose?” Caboose didn’t answer.

Back in Blood Gulch, Caboose had snored obnoxiously. It was loud enough to be heard from the other bunk rooms, and back then, there had been so few of them that they each had a room to themselves. The first ‘night’ Caboose had been there (the sun never goddamn set there anyway), Church had woken up at some ungodly hour of the ‘morning’ to storm through to Caboose’s room and yell at him. Or something. It was years ago.

Church had found him sleeping with about six stuffed animals. It was almost cute, but Church was too pissed to notice.

_ “Michael, what the fuck,” _ he had said, still half-asleep. Caboose had jolted awake almost immediately.

_ “Oh, Church! What are you doing up?” _ The rookie had been quite sarcastic those first few days. Omega had probably fucked him up somehow after Tex.

_ Of course, you could have fucked him up too, if you were an AI. _

That tore Church out of the memory quickly.

What kind of bullshit was that? He was a ghost. It was obvious, what with everything he had done in Blood Gulch.

After all, he and Tex had gone after Omega in Caboose-

“Tex,” echoed Church.

If he wasn’t a ghost - which was still shit, it was still fucking lies, and he couldn’t forget that - then what was Tex?

_ “The whole purpose of the program was the study soldiers with experimental A.I., but rumor has it, they could only ever get one. So they had to copy it. The original was Alpha, then Beta, and so on.” _

Not copy - split. Torture.  _ Fragment _ .

But Tex was a Freelancer, like Wash. He would have said something, even if it was fucking lies. She had her own AI. She was real. She was  _ real. _

“Church.”

Because she had to be,  _ he  _ had to be, they had names and memories and lives, and Washington wasn’t going to take it all away with his  _ lies- _

His head was pounding like it had been on the Warthog.

“Church, wake the fuck up.”

Church opened the eyes he didn’t know were clenched shut. (As clenched shut as a robotic display could be, anyway.)

Grif was standing above him, half his armor off and Simmons-transplanted skin sunburned.

“One, you’re putting dents into your arm. It’s broken enough, don’t need to break it more.”

Church loosened his grip on the broken arm. Not like he was gonna get this body fixed anyway.

“And?” he asked.

“ _ And _ , Sarge fixed the radio. Warthogs are beyond fucked at this point, but he’s calling Command. Which is fucking great, not like we just wrecked the place.”

Church kicked his legs out into the sand.

“Shouldn’t I call? Isn’t this one of our ‘Blue Team problems?’”

“Well, Sarge deleted the entire Blue Team, so not really.”

“Oh. Right.” Because it’s not like he needed more bullshit today.

“Right!” came the yell of affirmation from Sarge, walking towards the two of them. “Grif, get back in armor. Some guys called the UNSC are picking us up.”

Church narrowed his eyes.

“Who the fuck are the UNSC?”

“Hell if I know,” shrugged Sarge.

In the end, all there was to do was wait.

And waiting meant ignoring the pounding pain in the back of Church’s head, ignoring the constant thoughts interrupting him.

Just ignore it.

* * *

“Tucker, we need backup.”

“That’s what I said! And they ended up sending you.” Tucker stood next to the closed temple entryway, gauntlets curled tightly around an assault rifle.

“Well, I am great at penetrating!” Donut chirped, oddly at ease for what was happening. If they both came out of this alive, Tucker was going to kill him.

“This isn’t….aw, fuck it.” Tucker sighed. “ _ Bowchickabowwow _ . Now let’s actually focus for fucking once.” CT’s men outside must have turned on the loudspeaker, judging by the feedback blaring.

“We know you’re in there! Come out, and we won’t kill you!”

“That’s bullshit!” Tucker shouted back. “Right. Donut, you were good at throwing things, right?”

“I am known for having a lot of...arm experience!” Donut paused before finishing the sentence. Tucker didn’t think he was as calm as he seemed. He was still going to kill him, but it was something to note.   
“That wasn’t even a good one.  _ So _ , you have any grenades?”

“Why are you asking me? I keep practical stuff in my armor.” Tucker wasn’t even going to ask about that one. He had other things to say.

“Because everyone else is fucking dead, Donut!” Donut didn’t make eye contact with him. Tucker sighed and chucked his assault rifle to Donut - who managed to catch it, thank fuck.

“Just shoot, okay? I radioed Command. They didn’t help, like always, so we’re going to go find help.”

There was a pause.

“I’ll handle your rear,” Donut affirmed. Tucker smirked.

“I fucking hate you, Donut.” And yet his sword was out and they were going to run for it. For their fucking lives.

“I’ll distract them. You help. We’ll get one of their warthogs, I’ll shut down the temple, and we’ll get help to blow these assholes up.”

Three. Two. One. Doors open.

“COME GET SOME, MOTHERFUCKERS!”

Tucker had learned some things in the training for this stupid-ass mission. One, combat rolls sucked in sand. Didn’t stop him from trying some, but he regretted them instantly.

Two, swish swish stab was an entirely viable fighting strategy.

Three, having someone on your back was better than no one. Even if that someone was Donut.

Four, bad guys actually liked to keep their vehicles.

The number five was accompanied with a bang that sounded just too loud.

The bullet whizzed past his shoulder as Donut slumped against his back. 

It took Tucker too long to realize what was happening.

“Fuck. Fuck!” He dug his gauntlet into Donut’s shoulder, turning him around to face Tucker.

Donut was blinking, looking at his own shoulder. The red was beginning to bleed into the pink.

“Donut, get the fuck out of here,” he hissed. “I can hold these fuckers off. Just go. Get help.”

“But we were gonna get help together? It was a donut sandwich.” Donut still seemed oddly calm about the whole thing.

Probably shock, Tucker thought. But Donut was kind of an idiot anyway, so it was either or.

“Just fucking go. You get to a Warthog, and drive as far away as you can. I’ll try to get back in and shut it down again.” Donut only looked at him.

“Donut, listen. Just tell them the temple’s in the sand, okay? Someone will know what it means.”

Donut gave Tucker a thumbs up. The red had made its way down to his chest. Tucker was running out of time.

“Fix yourself up, okay? Don’t want my whole team to die on me. Now fucking go.”

Six, red team wasn’t terrible after all. At least when they were protecting you from bullets.

“Donut!” A helmet turned back to look at him as it ran to a downed warthog.

“If I die, tell everyone I was badass.”

Seven, it was always important to keep an image.

Eight. 

It wasn’t fun leading a team when there was no one to lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes on my doc, featuring Featherash  
> \---  
> Ajfkdljsakfldj epsilon you fucking roasted him BULLET TIME BITCH JAKLFJSDKAFJKA  
> ISU THIS IS GOOD which is it binch  
> WOW   
> I LOVE THIS   
> I HATE THE OTHER FIC  
> :) this is the other fic binch you thought  
> OH OH SHIT ITS A MEMORY FUCK FUCK FUCK FU K AJFKLDSJFKSDJFLKDS ISU YOU FUCKING PLAYED ME IK NOW THAT NOWWWW  
> OH SHIT  
> :) ;)?  
> ;;;;;;)))))))


	4. Distress Signal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two by two, they deal with the ashes of blue team's choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Wow im gonna fucin kick isus ass!” Saif DOnut and he kicked isus ass the end nothing bad happened  
> \--------  
> hahahaaaaa it hasn't been a while what are you talking about

“Hey, Simmons.”

“What?” Simmons wasn’t looking at Grif. His sparking had calmed down, but his cybernetics weren’t exactly perfect. The sand probably didn’t help matters, especially since Simmons was lying in it.

“You ever wonder why we’re here?”

“...is this you getting back at me for Blood Gulch? I’ll say it’s one of life’s great mysteries, and you’ll say ‘What? I mean what are we doing here?’.”

“I mean, yeah, I guess. But why are we _here_ , with the Blues? Their team’s fucking dead. We’re almost fucking dead. Look at you, for fuck’s sake.”

Simmons sighed.

“Sarge called for help. We’ll be fine.”

“But we shouldn’t _be here in the first place!_ It wasn’t ever our fight! We’re just dealing with Blue Team shit, _again_.” Grif looked at the blues in question, Church slumped next to Caboose’s armor. “I mean, look. One’s dead, the other’s pretty much for all the moving he’s doing. So great. Going on a suicide mission for a team which is already dead. Not like they have anything to lose.”

Simmons laughed, actually. It wasn’t happy.

“You know, I did say that shit about deleting the blues writing them out of existence. It kinda came true, huh? Guess you can’t laugh at me for that.” It was more bitter than Grif was used to. Oh well. He kinda needed bitterness right now.

“Yeah. Guess not.”

There was a silence. The UNSC - whoever the fuck they were, no one told Grif anything in this hell army - needed to hurry up. He was getting _real_ sick of silence.

There was the creak of Church’s useless robot arm, but that wasn’t exactly music. It was just something that screeched in his ears.

“Hey, blue,” Grif called. “Can you maybe shut your fucking arm up?”

He wasn’t sure what he expected, but there was no response.

“Blue. Church. If you’re fucking disassociating again don’t expect me to wake you up every goddamn time.”

Simmons pushed himself up from the ground, sand pouring from his armor.

“Church. Listen, I know about Caboose, but -”

“You gotta be awake for pretending like your team isn’t dead,” Grif finished.

Simmons shot him a glare, but it was the vague type of Simmons glare, that could probably be applied to every single thing Grif had ever said.

“Church,” Simmons started. It was useless, just like the last twelve things he had said, so Grif begrudgingly stood up to join Simmons, and promptly shoved Church, hard.

“Wake the fuck up, and stop fucking doing that.”

Church fell over.

Or, more accurately, Church’s _body_ fell over.

“Oh,” Simmons stated flatly.

 _“Wake the fuck up,_ ” came the echo.

But it didn’t come from Church. It came from Caboose.

“Oh.” Grif repeated, staring at Caboose.

In Church’s discarded hand, the Epsilon unit began to hum.

* * *

_“Man, this is weird.” Tex turned to Church and nodded._

_“Yeah, it can be kinda hard to get used to.”_

_“Not that,” scoffed Church. “It’s just that this place is a whole lot bigger than I expected.”_

_Somehow, Church thought Caboose’s had once looked different. It was his first time doing anything like this, wasn’t it? But…. he had the feeling there were supposed to be people, mental images of how Caboose saw them. It had been wide and empty, fitting for Caboose, but there was something._

_Not this mess. Something like tangled like wires, pulsing and too confusing for Church to really make out. Nerves, he thought, but that wouldn’t make any sense. It wasn’t what it had looked like before._

_In a web of whatever the fuck this was, Church felt...smaller. Weird._

_“Where should we start, Tex?”_

_Church smiled, turning to...no one. Tex wasn’t there._

_He was on his own._

* * *

Tucker was back in the temple. After everything, after Donut getting _fucking shot_ , there was nothing. He had gotten nowhere.

“Goddamnit,” he muttered, throwing his helmet to the ground. “God fucking damn it!”

There was fucking nothing! There was no fucking use to this! Donut was going to fucking _die_ and he wasn’t going to get anywhere, and fuck, the guys (were they the guys? What were they to him now after over a fucking year) wouldn’t even know. They wouldn’t even notice. There was going to be nothing.  
  
Hell, he could walk out right now and get himself shot, and honestly he’d accomplish the same goddamn ending.   
And it sucked, because Donut really wasn’t a bad guy. If anyone had really deserved to be shot, it had been Tucker, because what kind of leader got everyone fucking killed?

He ran the memories through his head for what seemed like the hundredth goddamn time. Because Donut had to have done something, right? It had to be heroic, or something, or he had pushed Tucker and took the fucking bullet, he couldn’t have just been-!

They had been back to back, like a dumb action movie that had he couldn’t remember the details of anymore, because all they had was _Reservoir Dogs_ \- focus.   
There had been just a bang too close. And then pink and red and god, wasn’t he on blue team, and when had he sat down on the ground, and why wasn’t anyone asking where Donut was, or if he was okay, or if _Tucker_ was okay, which was just the dumbest question right now.

The sand was wet.   
His team was dead. Everyone he had lead was dead. And hell, he wasn’t going to leave, was he?   
  
“Fucking shit.” Tucker really didn’t have many other words to say. All of them were different variations of “fuck” at this point. But his brain was telling him to focus, so for the hundred and first time, he ran through the situation.   
  
There was the bullet he wasn’t going to think about, and hey, guess Donut had two holes now, and he fucking laughed and hated himself for it. He didn’t know where it had come from, but god, the ground was nice and he couldn’t fucking stop laughing and hating it.   
The temple had been the only place to go, and it had just been a blur.   
  
Dust and CT’s grating fucking voice and he hadn’t been able to really consider what he had been saying, a stream of swears and panic but hey, it was all cool. It was fine. No one from Blood Gulch ever died. Except Flowers. But that wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t, even though he was wearing his dead captain’s own fucking armor.   
Someone had already died in it. Would have been better if it happened a second time rather than fucking anyone else.   
  
Tucker grimaced, and moved his leg.

The biofoam had just set, after all.  
Didn’t want to get any more sand in the bullet wound.

* * *

His armor was fried.

That was their excuse for taking it away. It was fried.

It was a bullshit excuse and they both knew it. Project Freelancer’s files had documented his EMP module and the steps they had taken to make sure he didn’t get stuck in the middle of a live-fire situation with no functioning armor.

But they didn’t have to care about excuses, because they were the UNSC and he was just another prisoner.

Agent Washington could already hear Alpha complaining in his head. Complaining - more like screeching really - about his armor.

 _“Emp proof?”_ And he would say EMP like it was a word, not an acronym, and Washington would try to correct him but it would be futile. _“You really wanted to kill me, didn’t you?”_  
  
It was the same old game again. Try to convince Alpha that he had forgotten, that it wasn’t compatible with AI, that it was anything than an ill-conceived attempt to kill the Meta before he could kill Washington.

But hell, even his fucking idea of Alpha was laughing at that, though it was more bitter than anything.   
_“God, you’re a fucking disaster, you know? Wanting to kill him just because he’s me. He reminded you too much of me, and you want him dead. And you hate that he’s alive, and you’re here. Don’t fucking lie to yourself, Wash.”_

He told Alpha to shut up.

_“Yeah, you fucking wish I was Alpha.”_

He told Epsilon to shut up.   
  
_“Please. You’re stuck with me forever, you know.”  
_   
He told himself to shut up, to get these fucking ghosts out of his head.

“ _Like you don’t miss me. Like you weren’t calling out for me when the MOI crashed, like you didn’t know what you were going to do after I died. You can’t fucking do this on your own, Washington. You couldn’t ever. God, you’re fucking useless.”  
_   
He didn’t give Epsilon a response.

“ _Couldn’t even kill me. Even if I was here right now, you wouldn’t be able to. Even if he was here right now, you’d just fucking let him go again. I know you wanted to fucking rip the chip out of his ports and shoot it so he couldn’t ever sound like me again, no matter what, but you just_ can’t _.”_

“Shut up. You’re not even real.”

_“Does that make it any better?”_

Washington reached for a gun before realizing he had none.  
  
“ _Fucking useless again, huh? That’s what I thought.”_

“Just go fucking die,” he muttered.  
  
“ _Already tried that. Didn’t you?”_

Washington didn’t answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is donut. Is donut okay. Please. Isu. i love you please isu is donut okay please answer--  
> It’s not a donut pov chapter :)  
> sorry:)  
> bUT IS HE ALIVE  
> Oh i wouldn’t do that so early in the story  
> You gotta wait for it feather  
> ISU  
> ISU GIVE ME AN ANSWER  
> I hate u HE MIGHT BE ALIVE I DONT KNOW!!!!!!!!!!! I JUST WANT ANSWERS  
> DEFINITE ANS W E R S  
> God me with everything in my life i dont know shit my dude  
> \---------  
> i love the google doc


End file.
